BlueBlooded Americans
by HeartsRekindled
Summary: Life is uneventful until an indifferent stranger shows up. Nny's quest for emotional apathy may not be so easy as he reckoned.


**Disclaimer: **Me no own JTHM and everything encompassing this little world. Jhonen Vasquez do.

**Author's Note**: well, it was only a matter of time until I took a shot at my own JTHM fanfic. Yep. I've been a fan for ages, but I never can agree on a plot or the (mild) female OC I will use. I only hope this doesn't make anyone regurgitate their din-din, because it did me. I suck at the dialogue. JTHM is some of the hardest fiction there is to write. I find keeping Johnny in character kind of challenging, which could be interpreted as a good thing. Okay…no more delay.

_**Blue Blooded Americans**_

_A fanfiction by Valerie Luna_

Chapter I Flying 

As if he hadn't done so before, Johnny unsteadily eased his way up the tenuous ladder that was in the third room of the first basement corridor. This room was entirely desolate, because he kept it for himself in particular. Oddly, he had just become annoyed of the vacancy that shadowed his life, so he created a device for himself. It was nothing to be proud of, and on no level matched the intricacy of the other torture-inflicting mechanisms that were scattered throughout his home.

With a slow veering of his neck, he gave the room one look with his gray-girdled eyes. The furnace, positioned closely at his right, suddenly began its loud humming, and hot air streamed from it and over his body. He removed his sweater and tossed it accidentally near a collection of roaches, who were picking at something that looked similar to the lifeless body of a mouse, but the corpse had started to decay and it was difficult to decipher it. The bugs skittered away quickly. He really found it disgusting and quite animalistic to live in a house so plagued with filth and rot, but somehow, he'd always had more important things on his agenda than cleaning up after himself.

The fabric of his undershirt became heated. He held to himself for a moment, relishing in the new awareness that the warmth had brought him. He felt goosebumps rise all over his arms and neck, and his face tingled. He thought for a moment how stupid the antics that he was about to proceed with would be. It was somewhat of a horrible guilty pleasure that he had just taken an affinity to; the equivalent of masturbation to a person so warped as Nny. He was embarrassed about it. He removed the undershirt and cast it in the direction of his sweater, along with any disagreeing thoughts.

He'd taken an affinity to masochistic tendencies.

He spread his arms, imitating an Olympic diver before he takes his plunge (though the ladder was twice as unstable as any diving board). Just below the terrace of the ladder, there were seven long strands of metal. They extended from wall to wall, stretched so that no slack was employed.

Nny actually snorted; He had just thought of how his device was not unlike a cheese-slicing utensil. He'd invented the human cheese slicer!

He allowed himself to tilt, until he succumbed to gravity. There was a "twang" as the strings sagged under his dismal weight.

_Lucky these wires were here to break my fall_, he thought. It was this dry humor that got him through the day (as well as the night).

The wires were placed in near-perfect alignment to sensitive areas of his body. His brow, neck, chest, belly, thighs, shins, and ankles all fell victim to some severe stinging.

His legs were the first interesting areas of pain. He knew that he'd ruined his pants when the metal cleft deep into his skin. Luckily he wasn't wearing his favorite pair. Soon after, he noticed the carving into his forehead. Progressively, each wound had its moment of stimulating Nny, and, after brief minutes, his faced softened from squinty grimace. He was able to feel his body no more. He looked below him. He could see the splintery floor. It was flecked with his own blood.

"I'm flying," he said.

Things blurred, then the color slipped from his vision. Suddenly, there was black everywhere…

He awoke some time later, very groggy and slimy from sweat.

His first occurring thought was "Oh, shit. I've been sleeping," but he was quick to recover and promptly attempted to roll off. His hands were cut as he groped the forehead wire.

"Hmm?" He pulled himself, yet wasn't moving. He reached and touched every wound, until he came to the one on his abdomen. Either skin had healed over the wire or the dried blood had scabbed over it. Without second thought, he wrenched his back upward.

That had actually caused him some discomfort. He wriggled off of the device, but haplessly fell to the floor, landing flat on his face.

"Fuck." He pulled himself up, and learned that he was extremely dazed. He slunk to the wall nearest the furnace. Again, it howled and spat warm air. He became peeved and punched it hard. "Shit, I've been sleeping," he said.


End file.
